


The Great Deodorant Dispute

by skyestiel



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen, M/M, POV Kindaichi, Zine piece, gratuitous use of deodorant, save kindaichi, seijoh is the best kind of weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 15:56:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19321384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyestiel/pseuds/skyestiel
Summary: Kindaichi expected a certain level of weirdness once the competition began. Spontaneous armpit snuffling and deodorant stick exchanges. A naked torso lathered in Old Spice, if Hanamaki and Matsukawa were involved.“I don’t think it’s the deodorant,” Oikawa announces after a practice scrimmage a week later, unprompted. He spreads out his arms. “Judges? Don’t I smell exquisite?”Now, here comes the pit snuffling.or: My piece for the Seijoh "Rule The Court" Zine!





	The Great Deodorant Dispute

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY!! i kept meaning to post my piece from this zine... sorry that it's taken me so long. i hope that everyone who hasn't had the opportunity to read it yet enjoys! please check out the rest of the stories in the zine collection and give them some love! thanks for reading <3

 

The competition starts as, you know, most do.

Oikawa, pouting with his arms crossed, while Iwaizumi fumes from a foot away. And quite frankly, raging hormones, but that’s nothing new. 

“You’ve got to be joking,” Iwaizumi scoffs. “I’m jealous of how you  _ smell _ ?”

Oikawa uncrosses his arms and smugly lifts the right one. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? Body odor is natural, Iwa-chan. No need to be ashamed! Now, if you would just lean in and—”

“For the last time, I’m not sniffing your pits!”

Kindaichi leans against the wall and sighs under his breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Hanamaki and Matsukawa smirk and jostle each other.  _ Oh no. _

“I have an even better idea.” Hanamaki confirms Kindaichi's worst fears and slinks closer to Oikawa and Iwaizumi. “Let’s settle this the Seijoh way.”

Concerned, Kindaichi turns to Kunimi.  _ ‘The Seijoh way?’ _ he mouths. But Kunimi merely shrugs, as if to say,  _ I have no idea what’s happening half the time with this team either, dude _ .

Hanamaki continues enthusiastically. “We’ll have a contest! You two swap deodorants, and  _ we'll  _ decide which of you stinks less.”

“Oh?” Oikawa trills, which earns him a withering glare from Iwaizumi.

Matsukawa picks up where Hanamaki left off. "So, the rest of us will judge?"

Of course we will. Of  _ course _ . Kindaichi often wonders if this sort of thing happens on other teams. For some reason, he can’t imagine Karasuno’s captain begging his team for validation. Or, worse, asking his vice captain to sniff his armpits after sweating buckets on the court.

As Kindaichi predicted, though, it’s too late. Iwaizumi and Oikawa agree to the terms, and the infamous "Deodorant Dispute” commences.

 

 

* * *

 

 

So, Iwaizumi is acting strange.

To say “strange,” though, would be a gross understatement. He’s acting… flighty? On edge?

Kindaichi expected a certain level of weirdness once the competition began. Spontaneous armpit snuffling and deodorant stick exchanges. A naked torso lathered in Old Spice, if Hanamaki and Matsukawa were involved.

“I don’t think it’s the deodorant,” Oikawa announces after a practice scrimmage a week later, unprompted. He spreads out his arms. “Judges? Don’t I smell exquisite?”

Now, here comes the pit snuffling. They swarm Oikawa and press their noses to his clothes. Which truly presents a  _ nightmarish  _ image. At least to Kindaichi who respects and—to an extent—fears his upperclassmen.

Hanamaki eventually declares, “Not bad.”

Everyone else seems to feel the same, nodding along and mumbling their agreement. Hanamaki's astute partner-in-crime, Matsukawa, rounds on Iwaizumi. “You’re awfully quiet. We still need to sniff you, too, you know.”

_ We need to sniff you,  _ Kindaichi repeats miserably to himself.  _ This is my life now _ .

“Guess you’re right,” Iwaizumi mutters, uncharacteristically reserved. He tucks his chin against his chest and twists his fingers in the hem of his lime green jersey. “Do your worst.”

As with Oikawa, the team surrounds Iwaizumi. They nuzzle into the damp fabric or, in Kindaichi’s case, stand at a comfortable distance.

And, okay, Kindaichi will admit: Iwaizumi smells fantastic.

Clean with a hint of musk, of sandalwood, and not a single whiff of lingering perspiration. The transformation is magic, to be honest. And, for a delirious second, Kindaichi wonders if he should move closer.

Maybe—just maybe—it’s the deodorant. Oikawa’s deodorant.

Kindaichi promptly fantasizes about bashing his forehead into the closest available locker door.  _ Yep, it’s happening. I’m becoming one of them. _

Watari is the first to echo what the rest of them must be thinking. “Wow.”

“You smell like a forest,” Kyoutani grumbles and then blanches. His teammates gape at his outburst as if he spontaneously sprouted another head.

Meanwhile, Iwaizumi continues his evasive behavior. Avoiding eye contact at all costs, deflecting compliments and questions. Kindaichi’s gaze drifts to Oikawa, who hasn’t said a word since the rantings and ravings started. The glint in his narrowed eyes is the closest to warm,  _ soft  _ even _ , _ that Kindaichi has seen him direct at someone else—quite possibly ever.  _ Bleh _ .

“So, do we have our winner, judges?” Matsukawa addresses the group, like he’s hosting a Netflix show instead of a clash between sweaty teenage boys. “We do, don’t we, Takahiro-kun?”

“The people have spoken.” Hanamaki spins around and indicates Oikawa with a flick of his wrist. “And our resident annoyance and captain, Oikawa Tooru, takes home the prize for first place!”

Yahaba raises a slim, skeptical brow. “And what does he win?”

“Bragging rights, of course. We’re in high school,” Matsukawa answers with a snort. “We don’t have prize money lying around. Geez, kids these days.”

“I’m only a year younger than you.” Yahaba eyes Oikawa. “Also, an excuse to brag is the  _ last  _ thing Oikawa needs.”

Kindaichi watches this chaotic excuse for a conversation unfold. Once they get going, there’s no stopping them; not that Kindaichi wants to. As long as he’s not singled out, he could care less.

After all, their dysfunctional family sure can put on a show.

 

 

* * *

 

 

On a normal, insignificant Wednesday morning, Kindaichi discovers it.

Yes,  _ it _ .

He recently got into the habit of showing up to the locker room early. For an hour at most, the tiny space serves as his safe haven. Offering a grace period of sorts before the Seijoh bulls crash into his temporary china shop.

When he walks in at six o’clock sharp, though, he finds he isn’t alone. Not today.

His eyes aren’t drawn to the person half-dressed in front of the locker, but rather to what lies on the other side. Perhaps it’s lingering exhaustion or a trick of the light, but Kindaichi  _ swears  _ there are dozens of deodorant sticks crammed in their locker. A heap of mint green tubes shoved on the half-shelves, as if they hoped to remain covert about it—as if they wanted to keep their treasure a secret.

Kindaichi squints, trying to make out the labels. It’s hard to tell, but the packaging looks like Oikawa’s brand.

Curious, Kindaichi lets his eyes wander to the person in question.

Their shoulder blades shift under sun-kissed skin as their body stiffens at the creaking of the door. Familiar muscles that, if Kindaichi is completely honest with himself, he’s ogled in the past. Muscles belonging to— 

Oh my  _ God _ .

Kindaichi scrubs at his eyes. But, no, this is real. The mysterious stranger who owns a stash of Oikawa’s deodorant is  _ Iwaizumi _ . A hilariously guilty, wide-eyed Iwaizumi, still gripping a stick of deodorant, wholly redefining the phrase ‘caught red-handed.’

As their eyes meet, Iwaizumi’s expression hardens.

Kindaichi expects him to snap, “ _ Do you know who stuck these in my locker? I’ll make them run laps until they collapse _ .”

Or maybe, “ _ Listen, I switched bodies with Oikawa! You have to help me hide these somewhere before the rest of the team gets here! _ "

Instead, Iwaizumi thins his lips. “You can  _ never  _ tell anyone about this. Understood?”

Kindaichi’s brain has long since short-circuited. Even nodding requires a tremendous effort.

“Good.” Iwaizumi forces a smirk and closes his locker. He quietly crosses the room, eyes never leaving Kindaichi. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

Kindaichi opens his mouth to respond. But, as Iwaizumi passes him on the way out, he slaps a hand over Kindaichi’s shoulder and squeezes— _ hard _ .

“I wouldn’t wanna have to kill you,” Iwaizumi finishes, almost wistfully. Even when he tacks a snicker on the end, Kindaichi can’t help but shudder. Iwaizumi then leaves, and the door falls shut behind him with an audible  _ slam _ .

Aoba Johsai may have the most cohesive volleyball team in Japan, but, God, they're also the weirdest.

“Is  _ that  _ why we’re so successful?” Kindaichi asks the empty room. Predictably, it doesn’t have the answers he’s looking for.

Kindaichi warily approaches Iwaizumi's locker. The door opens easily, seeing as none of them use combination locks. He’s greeted by at least fifteen sticks of deodorant—enough to last several weeks. Enough to keep an entire American football team fresh and woodsy.

Gingerly, Kindaichi reaches in and snags the stick at the bottom. He removes the lid and, to his relief, it appears brand new. The lucky little guy hasn't experienced hairy pits yet.  _ Thank goodness. _

He lifts the tube to his nose and inhales. One puff, then another. He’s hit with a familiar, intoxicating scent.

Satisfied, Kindaichi slips off his shirt and plops it on top of his gym bag. And after a cursory glance at the exit, he raises his left arm high in the air and glides the deodorant stick over his skin.

He breathes in, fully absorbing the aroma.  _ I smell like a forest. _

Kindaichi navigates around his gym bag, hastily tossing the evidence inside his locker. But everything should be fine. Iwaizumi has plenty; he won’t miss this one.

 

**Author's Note:**

> oh, kindaichi... why are they all Like This?
> 
> please drop a kudo and/or comment if you enjoyed this story! or let me know on any of these accounts: **[tumblr](http://tobiologist.tumblr.com/), [twitter](https://twitter.com/tobiologist), [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/tobiologist/)** or **[curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/tobiologist)**!!!!


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